


Physicality! Please

by RandomDalmatian326



Series: Time!Please [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, Bullying, Eric has not met Jack yet, Eric is Gay in the South, Gay!Bitty, M/M, Prologue, Soulmate AU, Very brief mention of corrective rape, soulmate!AU, very brief mention of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 19:03:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12019059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomDalmatian326/pseuds/RandomDalmatian326
Summary: Eric didn't use to be afraid of physicality, that would happen later.A prologue to Time! Please





	Physicality! Please

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Prologue to Time!Please, a soulmate AU I'm working on. I've already hammered out the first couple of chapters of "Time! Please!" and expect it to be a short fic in itself, will be posting the first chapter soon. Not Beta'd.

Eric’s Prologue to: Time! Please

As a gay kid in a small Southern town, there weren’t many people like him, and the ones who were, well, they were Pariahs in their own right. Some of them got sent to special sleep away camps that no one talked about, and when they came back they would be a lot more… quiet. More… discrete. Others, who he sometimes saw at the very sparsely and discretely attended Gay-Straight Alliance, worse happened. Behind bleachers, in locker rooms, in stairwells, some of the kids were violated in a way Eric didn’t want to think about. He remembers the day he found out that Ellen had suffered behind the bleachers- he remembers walking her home for weeks with his keys between his knuckles, not quite breathing as he held her almost limp hand and guided her home. He remembers not being able to touch her for what felt like a lifetime afterward, how jumpy she would get, and how unhappy she had become. Sunshine became storm, and smiles were fought for. She had broken up with Tina after that, and Tina’s family had moved up west, last he heard. Some place more liberal, like Houston. Ellen’s family couldn’t move, and they probably didn’t even know. Or maybe they did, and just chose to ignore it, hoping Ellen would “pray it away,” even though it was a small name scribbled on her wrist. 

Nothing was said at the school, and none of the rogue boys were disciplined. But it weighed on the kids. And suddenly, a lot of people Eric had at least made acquaintances with stopped nodding back in the hallways. Stopped sharing notes in pre-calc. Stopped showing up to Gay-Straight Alliance. Suddenly the group dwindled from twenty to fifteen, to seven, to five. None of them were truly friends, really, but they were community in a way few were.

He had a target on his back, as the “Momma’s Boy” who baked. He figure skated. Talked funny. Had _that name_ on his wrist. He couldn’t be an outright target though, because his Daddy was Coach. And Coach could be many things, but none wanted to test what would happen if something happened to his kid. The abuse he went through was less physical and more psychological- ostracized by his acquaintances, friends only in private, some mean comments here, some snickers there, some pushes here, some throwing his shit in the school fountain there.

He remembers Ellen crying outside the art room one day in between classes, and Travis and some of the boys from football team (Coach’s boys!) laughing as they neared. She had flattened her back against the lockers.

He doesn’t remember much after that as anger flowed through him and actions became automatic. He saw her, and he saw the boys moving closer, maybe to fuck with her or scare her or worse… He remembers his hand going into his pocket, he remembers his keys finding their usual place in between his knuckles, he remembers how faster than lightning he was there, his hand coming out and _slashing_ Travis in the face. He hadn’t planned on this, though. But if there’s one thing he knew from his Daddy, it was that you were more likely to hurt your hand if you punched someone in the face, so he had converted it to a straight up slash.

He remembers being more angry than scared as trickles of blood dripped unto the old, shitty tile floor from those keys, he remembers Travis’ eyes going wide.

For a few seconds it was him and Travis, Travis and him. The little gay boy versus the safety on the football team. 6 feet somethin’ and 200 plus pounds of pure _“fuck you”_ versus an itty bitty 5’4” skater. He was strong, you had to be to skate; he was flexible, you had to be to land three triple Salchows… but he wasn’t big by any stretch of the imagination. 

Eric remembers the punch that he nearly caught on the side of his solar plexus, he remembers kicking Travis’ knee to make him go down, he remembers the boys springing into action and he remembers slashing at anyone he could. 

He remembers kicking and biting, not used to any sort of fighting, he remembers lack of oxygen, he remembers pain. He remembers the other boys dogpiling on him, he remembers their large bodies focusing their energy on making him hurt. And boy did he fucking hurt. But damn them if he wasn’t gonna take some of those motherfuckers with him.

He doesn’t remember Ellen running in for a teacher, but he does remember being the only one tugged away by the wrestling coach and dragged to the office.

He remembers sitting in the office with an eye that was already yellow, pain in his ribs, blood in his nails as Mr. Gogin reprimanded him for fighting. He remembers thinking something along the lines of “fuck you.” He remembers thinking how stupid and wrong everything was, how he didn’t even have the energy to be Southern, perfect and polished and polite. 

For fifteen minutes, he wasn’t Eric Bittle, Southern Gay boy, son of Coach Bittle. For fifteen minutes Eric Bittle was an angry and bitter fourteen year-old who had defended someone who needed to be defended. And he wasn’t sorry, not even a little bit.

Eric Richard Bittle wasn’t always afraid of physicality. That would happen later.


End file.
